Paint the World Red
by Nikolai Curzon
Summary: Tragedy strikes, and Tyler's world shatters. He makes a decision – with terrible consequences. Will he survive the aftermath? Dark!Tyler.


**Summary: **Tragedy strikes, and Tyler's world shatters. He makes a decision – with terrible consequences.  
_"Some stories have happy endings. Mine isn't one of them."_

**Rated: **T-M

**Warnings:** AU, Character Death, Dark

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.

**AN: **What if someone turned it off willingly? I've always liked to see a nohumanity!Tyler, and I was so sure it was going to happen after the massacre but oh well. This is my take. In this fic, Tyler had a way better relationship with the hybrids like he should have, his mother and Matt. Caroline and Tyler are broken up, by the way, but he still loves her. Sorry if it's badly-written, I've done my best and corrected it at least hundred times, haha. The beginning is a bit lame but it gets better. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated but flames are side-eyed. Enjoy!

* * *

_"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the benign indifference of the world."_

* * *

"There needed to be twelve for the sacrifice Tyler."

The hybrid's eyes widened in shock and he could almost hear his heart stop beating. His shoulders slumped, body drooping like the broken stem of a flower as those words painfully echoed inside his head.

A sacrifice? Twelve?

Hybrids?

"What twelve?" It was a useless question, one that he knew the answer to already. Yet, there was something in him that was flat-out denying the outcome of his actions. It was impossible. He had never seen this coming.

_This shouldn't be happening. _

"I'm sorry," she choked out, voice tinged with guilt. Hazel eyes pleaded for him to understand but Tyler, however, couldn't care less.

"What did you do?" He questioned listlessly, his head already shaking with realization. He knew what she had done, he understood it all by now. But did _she _know what she'd done? Did she understand the consequences? How can someone possibly think that all of this could be absolved with just a _I'm sorry_?

And for what end? Information? He could have gotten it, from whoever … if she only asked him … this would have all been averted and all the hybrids …

They would've been free. Have what he couldn't have. Escape what he'd have to endure for the rest of his life.

But _he_ would have to suffer for _his _actions. Tyler was the alpha, after all. His sense of duty to his pack members, his family, extended well beyond any survival instinct. Protect your own; that had always been his incentive and the driving force in all his actions. His concern for them wasn't unwarranted. The hybrids were part of him just as much as he was a part of them. They deserved to _live_.

And now, the one they had trusted the most, trusted with their _lives –_ had ripped that all away from them.

His hands were flat up against his sides, blue-y veins sticking against the skin as he curled them up into fists, shaking uncontrollably, eyes screaming murder. His mind was a red haze; the color of blood and destruction and _Klaus_, and all he could think about was death. It was inevitable and_ that _realization shocked him out his stupor. His breath rose out in an icy vapor into the night sky, his burning wish to contend with the traitorous werewolf in front of leaving with it, as he concentrated on the sense of foreboding creeping up inside his throat. He set his anger at Hayley aside (if only temporarily) and strictly focused on the flashing memories of the hybrids: him and Chris playing soccer, Mindy playing Just Dance 3 on his Wii, beating his high score, Kimberly and Adrian laughing together as they downed another bottle of vodka. Tears pricked his eyes. Not only were they his comrades; they were his friends. His family.

As Tyler waded through the tough crowd (how many people had his mom invited to this party?), his throat dried up. As he blurred through the front gate, over the streets, and into the darkness of the forest, the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach burned away all of his insides. He desperately wished for a miracle.

Maybe Hayley lied. Maybe Klaus hadn't reached them yet. Maybe, all wasn't lost.

_It is_; accented, mocking words echoed inside his skull. He subconsciously gulped, whizzing through the abundance of trees and wildlife with a nervous pep to his steps. _You've lost everything._

Before he could question the presence of _his _unwanted opinion inside his head, his senses picked up something strange. Everything in the woods quieted as he came to an abrupt stop just when an alarm bell inside him went off vigorously. There was a shock, an alteration to the life around him so unforeseen it left him reeling.

His steps were calculated and careful. The rough, hardened leaves crackled under the soles of his expensive shoes while the wind blew brutally into his face, the cold winter air biting. It bothered him more than it should as temperature change didn't affect him, being an undead creature and all. It was as if everything was working to stop him from taking another step. What would be waiting for him at the edge of the forest would be either _his _death, or something much worse.

A sickening smell hung heavily in the air, clinging to his skin and seeping into his pores. The smothering odor suffocated his nose to an extent where he had to pinch the bridge to block it out. The stench had a strange familiarity to it. Had he smelled it before? He stopped in his tracks, appalled; his mind digging up a particularly disturbing memory.

_Chris lied unconscious on the ground. An ax. Jeremy. One dramatic hack, an ear-piercing scream, blood splattering the pristine off-white walls, creating a morbid contrast. The bloodied hallway. The solid hours it took to scrub the floors and walls clean. Plump, pink lips. A husky voice murmured soothing words of comfort. Waves of nausea. A horrible smell, it was everywhere..._

Bile rose up his throat as he stared at the bloodied dots, lined up in perfect formation, forming a crimson pentagon. Feet shuffling through the damp grass, he observed the lifeless bodies carefully, noticing a pattern. Instead of scattering them criss cross, Klaus had opted to match each heart with a corpse. Sentimentality. He could appreciate that.

His gaze lingered on his fallen friends for a long time, and his knees felt like they could collapse any moment and drag the rest of his limbs with them like a human domino. The sight was heart-wrenching. He looked around hopelessly, searching for any escape, any distraction. Frantic eyes flickered to the body nearest to him. Adrian's guileless face stared up into the night sky, a thousand stars reflected back into his lifeless orbs. Fear was written all across his face, and somehow Tyler knew that he had been the first to go. He choked up, a wheezing sound much akin to the bark of a lost dog fading into the night.

_Sadness_. An emotion he was acquainted with but never on such an intense scale, overwhelmed him. Flooded his vision and the rest of his senses. The constant hammering in his chest increased to a rapid staccato, in rhythm with his shallow breathing, spelling out two words. _It's over._

Twelve hybrids. Each and every one of them he had known personally, some he'd gotten along with more than others. Yet they were all equals in his eyes. They all had a similar standing in importance to him. They were their own – separate from each other and Klaus, but united in their likeness and resentment of him. For a brief, blissful moment they owned themselves. Despite only having tasted the sweet nectar of liberty for seconds, they embodied freedom and struggle.

Yet, they all perished. Tyler had gone through identical struggles: he'd broken the sire bond, had suffered under scrutiny, and had been alienated by his loved ones. If they _were_ all equal, why was _he_ still alive? Why was _he_ cursed to look at the frozen expressions of horror on their faces? Why was _he _forced to stand in a field, emotionally battered and bruised, to watch their mangled bodies slowly decompose? Why _him_?

Despite his devastating grief, a crimson trail caught his eye. It started at his right and continued until deep into the forest. He released a gasp and his face lit up with recognition when he saw what route it was taking. Curiosity bubbled up at the surface, fortunately distracting him from his sadness as he neared the track. His keen eyesight followed the spatters of blood, his lithe body edging nearer and nearer to what he undoubtedly knew were the Lockwood cellars.

A whiff of hybrid and that repulsive scent intruded his nostrils again. Tyler frowned in confusion. _Who died **here**?_

He walked down the steps, throwing the oak door open, which was curiously hanging off its hinges. Frowning, he stopped abruptly, surveying the damaged latch. Strange; last time he was here it'd been in perfect condition. What had happened?

He abandoned his interest at the busted door in favor of the peculiar-looking spots, staining the ground.  
The blood trail here was more pronounced. More recent. Red marks danced across the side walls of the cave in the form of tiny hand prints, leading into the cellar he used to turn in every full moon. Tyler struggled to enter the dark space, frightened of what he was going to witness in this area of misery but after a moment of consideration, shrugged. He doubted anything could shock him anymore.

_Wrong._ When the first thing that assaulted his vision was the detached head of Kimberley, resting against the foot of the metal bars and coloring the muddy floor crimson – he choked up. The crippling grief was still undoubtedly there and had definitely tripled in size. It was too much. _I can't handle this, _he thought, panicked.

This was a major setback. The executioners of his plan were defeated – _dead_ – and Klaus was still running about, his arrogance probably reaching new highs with twelve deaths in one night and all. There was no witch, there had never been one. If he ran, Klaus would catch up to him in no time. He was as good as dead. _  
_

With Kimberley's demise so aptly displayed in front of him, all hope was lost. _None_ of the hybrids were left. Klaus had brutally massacred them all and no one had made it out alive. Kim had managed to escape the bloodbath and was the last to die for some reason, though again Klaus had always favored her so that wasn't very surprising. But she was dead nevertheless, which basically made him the last one standing.

The last one … Realization hit him hard, and his eyes widened in shock. He and Klaus were the last hybrids on the freaking _planet_. If he had thought he'd been lonely while a werewolf, nothing could have prepared him for this. He slowly backed away, head shaking in denial. The last of his species, along with the one he hated most? _I'm fucked._

He turned his back on Kim's limp, decapitated corpse and walked out a defeated man; feet shuffling, head hanging low, shoulders hunched. Dejection radiated off the young hybrid in waves, dragging everything in his near vicinity in a depressed lull; the green of the trees seemed less bright, the grass was damper, soaking into his shoes and the stars grew duller by the minute. A woodsy scent assaulted his nostrils as he trudged through the soft forest floor and his nose greeted the nasty odor of death like an old friend.

His feet padded lightly over to Adrian's body and he hunched, leaning over him with the expression of a man broken. Grimacing, he gently pulled Adrian's eyelids to a close and smoothed out the wrinkles in his face with all the care he could muster. With his eyes closed and lips thinned in a neutral line, he seemed more asleep and less like he just had his heart ripped out by a raging psychopath.  
Tyler repeated this gesture to every fallen hybrid in the neat pentagon, tearfully apologizing and bidding them goodbye. Considering that he'd failed them all, this was the least he could do. He hadn't done Kim and really wanted to, but couldn't bear to go back and look at her – or what was left of her. That was the coward in him protesting.

Just when he was about to consider getting a shovel and giving them all a proper burial (Kim excluded, for the moment), a loud buzzing against his leg interrupted his thoughts. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and stared at the unknown number, confused. Who would call him at _this_ time of night?

He picked up with a grunt. "Tyler Lockwood," he started apprehensively. There was scuffling and faint shouts in the background, confusing him all the more. "Who is this?"

"It's Sheriff Forbes. Tyler listen, I need you here _now_, at the Christmas party. Your mother …"

He was alarmed at the urgency in her voice and started to shake his head in denial before her sentence even ended. He couldn't handle anymore surprises. Hands trembling, the one second of hesitation in Sheriff Forbes' voice felt like an eternity to him. After tonight's events, Tyler's patience was running thin.

"What happened?" He screamed into the phone. Dread filled his core as he awaited the policewoman's answer with bated breath, feet already moving on its own accord. No matter what, he had to go to the party, his mother, _immediately_. More shouting was heard on the other end of the phone which had him growing increasingly more worried if possible. Something was terribly wrong.

Finally, there was a loud sigh. "Mayor Lockwood ... She was found dead in the fountain." There was a steel-hard edge to her voice, icy enough to make his blood run cold.

The next thing he knew he was running with the remains of what used to be an iPhone 4S in his hand, tears streaking his cheeks as the wind ruthlessly slapped him in the face. A mocking voice, the same one who'd gleefully greeted him at the site of the massacre, laughed whole-heartedly. It echoed in his skull.

There was a ruckus when he arrived. People nearly pulling each other apart to catch a glimpse of something (Tyler didn't want to think what), shouting loudly, huddled together behind the yellow police tape. Tyler didn't even bother with the loud hollers thrown at his back as he waded through the vast crowd, aggressively pushing anyone away who dared to stand in his path. The sight of a devastated Sheriff Forbes intruded his line of vision, distracting him from his main target: the fountain.

Liz Forbes, stern mother of one Caroline Forbes, had the look of a woman defeated. Her shoulders drooped and her head was held low, depression radiating off of her. Much of the officer's stance reminded him of himself, minutes after witnessing the massacre and his stomach wrenched at the pitiful sight.

Creases of wisdom lined her eyes, and he realized, for the first time, how tired Sheriff Forbes really was. Tired of all the death; the resurrection; the supernatural. And it stupefied him. Mrs Forbes was, in his eyes, the only sense of normalcy he could find in their town. She wasn't afraid of anything, protecting their small town and kicking ass at the same time even with all the vampires lurking around. Even through all the death and misery, she stood there tall and proud as a pillar; supporting everyone and never showing a single crack. His father's, Grams', not even her own ex-husband's death was enough to break through the tough exterior of Mrs Forbes. She was there for everyone, understanding and accepting that no one was ever strong enough to be there for her. To the townspeople, to Caroline, to him; Liz Forbes was untouchable.

A hand landed on his shoulder, cradling the fabric of his suit jacket in a comforting gesture. The Sheriff stared at him with compassion. Tyler pointedly ignored her and shrugged her hand off. Looking straight ahead, his stone-hard gaze locked on the bustling police officers chatting around the ivory marble of the fountain. An ambulance car was parked next to it.

His feet inched forward out of their own volition and only when the Sheriff reluctantly held him away did he realize he'd even moved at all. His dead-set eyes strayed to the petite woman before him, who'd bravely placed herself in front of him. A terse silence settled as they glared at each other with such intensity, he could feel the air between them crackle with tension.

Tyler shook his head, his burning gaze dissolving into a pleading one. "Please," he said softly, voice raspy and unused. What was he asking for? Assurance that this was all some sick joke and he wasn't standing in the courtyard begging to see his mother's _corpse_? Or was he pleading with her to end his suffering? He wanted to shake his head, laugh until his voice was a whimper and then cry his lungs out.

"This is _so_ sick," Tyler whispered, hands cupping his face in a desperate attempt to hold on to his fragile sanity, which was dangerously slipping as the night progressed. His blood rushed to his ears, pounding to a resonant beat that distracted and kept him alert at the same time.

He wished he could say it all felt like a rush but in reality, time ticked on ever so slowly, almost as if frozen – and he wanted everything to end. Mrs Forbes sympathetic face, his trembling body, the clamor from the spectators and the noisy movements of the police workers a few feet away from them. His sensitive hearing picked it all up and his brain processed so much information he felt like he was going to faint. The migraine that attacked his temple and set his nerves on fire overwhelmed him with its intensity. He clutched his head, desperately willing it to stop.

Those were the longest two minutes of his life. And in that span of time, he made a decision. He had to face the truth.

There was a shaking sensation on his arm but he paid it no mind as he clumsily stumbled forward, still in meager discomfort. The throbbing in his skull had grown to a dull thud; bearable but painful. Liz's desperate calls for attention invaded his eardrums but he ignored them resolutely and dragged his feet forward. The sheriff was only looking out for him, he knew, but he didn't need it. Not now.

Tyler arrived at the scene just when something wrapped in a white sheet was being wheeled into the ambulance van. His face blanched as he pushed through all the workers, stopping in front of the cart and reaching out to it.

Men clamored and the one closest to him grabbed the zoom of his suit jacket in a vain attempt to restrain him. Tyler immediately whipped around and looked his attacker straight in the eyes – pupils dilating dangerously.

"_Let me go_," he commanded, voice deadpan and emotionless. The man didn't struggle as Tyler peeled off his stubby fingers from his jacket and showed no reaction to the order, except for the look of fear in his beady eyes from the mental probing. The hybrid paid him no mind and instead focused his attention on the pristine white sheet. His fingers ghosted over the fabric, shocked at how _real_ it felt. Eyes darted around desperately, taking in the scene with dread. _This was actually happening._

Despite his dramatic expectations, the 'moment of truth' went by pretty quickly. He pulled the sheet away in the blink of an eye, looked straight into the face of death, and his expression froze.

Despite the circumstances of her demise, despite her will to live, despite the fact that she was _fucking dead_ – Carol Lockwood look quite peaceful in her passing. He should have been happy that she looked asleep rather than drowned, but even with the evidence presented in front of him – it did nothing. Except for magnifying his grief and crippling him, there was nothing else. Tears stained his cheeks stubbornly and he didn't bother wiping them away. He would let the irritating sensation linger for a while as he fumbled for something to do or to say.

In the end he decided to cup her sallow cheeks affectionately, stroking them to warm up the wrinkly skin. His mother was no youthful beauty by any means, but there was a certain allure to her: a sophisticated air which had always rendered him in awe and respect, even in death. In his younger years, it had made him nod his assent automatically whenever she requested something of him and now he wished he'd agreed with her more often lately, just to see the her face light up. He would agree to anything, really – as long as it meant she could be with him again.

But there was nothing that could bring her back. No Gilbert Ring, no witchy mumbo-jumbo and no Christ-like resurrection. His mother had succumbed to her mortality like he knew she'd eventually would (though in his mind it would've been at least forty years from now and less traumatizing), yet it hurt all the same. Pulverized every ounce of happiness. Destroyed all what hope was left – a hope which had been barely anything to start with but at least it'd been better than nothing.

**_She was dead_**.

His tears never stopped, he doubted they ever would, and he wished for any type of salvation from the violent torrent in his mind. Heart wrenching in two, he found himself stumbling back, the heavy lump in his throat deterring him from any coherent speech. The workers were suddenly crowding around him, closing in on him, staring; their faces expressing genuine sympathy. He noticed one particular guy nearing him and patting his shoulder good-naturedly, his expression grim. Tyler could only gape at him, dumbfounded.

He heard a soft, imminent flutter. Ignoring the horde growing in mass around him, Tyler raised his eyes apprehensively. The Merry Christmas sign, hoisted high above him, flapped in the wind.

One voice rang true; _Have yourself a merry little Christmas, Tyler._

* * *

Tyler arrived at an empty house. He stood rooted to his spot in the foyer, not daring to make a move. Everywhere he looked he swore he saw crimson spatters, and he wasn't talking about the dark bloodstains on the carpet, no; these were fresh, dripping all over the walls, painting a horrific retelling of the bloodbath he'd narrowly escaped. If he'd been less lucid, he'd probably started seeing bloodied hearts littering the floor as well.

The morbid image slowly trickled away from his mind like soapy water through the drain and there was one question, burning through his consciousness: _why_?

Why her? Why them? Why _him_? If you'd ask these questions to Klaus Mikaelson, he'd give you an explanation that would exceed all heights of ridiculousness. Tyler could picture him already; excusing himself for his 'impropriety' to the Mystic Falls gang, to Caroline – and they'd all eat his shit up like it was damn ambrosia. Not because it actually tasted good (anything that Klaus said left a bitter taste in the mouth), but because there was simply no arguing with him. The mere vampires and mortals in this town might delude themselves into thinking that they had the upper hand with the eons-old hybrid, but Klaus had always been a step ahead of all of them. The Mikael debacle, the Esther fiasco, _tonight_; these were only a few examples from the countless times the odds had been in _his_ favor.

After all the crap he'd gone through, after all the times Klaus came out victorious, after nearly every single thing that had gone wrong in his life could be traced back to _him_ – he wanted to win. And a small part of him, a faction so small it was the size of a dust particle, craved approval from him too. Tyler Lockwood wasn't a failed, wayward hybrid – he'd be the perfect half-breed that had ever walked the earth, in his own ability. All of his early plans might have gone down the drain, never fully realized but this had been _his_ chance to show his toughest adversary that he was a worthy opponent.

It was like killing two birds with one stone: the hybrids would be free, and he could look into the mirror again without wanting to punch the glass for his incompetence in all things Klaus. It really was a win-win situation.

On that night he noticed a very significant detail: the town reeked of death. Mystic Falls always had had a strange atmosphere to it, but after witnessing tonight's horrors, he finally had a name. It was everywhere; in the newspapers, the vast-growing cemetery, his friends circle. It was the sort of thing you never realized until it actually happened to you. All the times he'd been faced by grief would come back and haunt him. Not necessarily _his _grief; it was Caroline's, Matt's, Bonnie's, Jeremy's, Elena's and even of the vampire brothers. The sadness of at least half of the people in that list he could care less about, still - the sentiment remained the same. Their once meaningless words now painted the somber shades of the world he currently inhabited.

Not that he was a stranger to sadness – he'd grieved for his father. For Mason. But daddy dearest wasn't exactly likable to begin with, and Mason had been part of his world for such a short time that Tyler often doubted whether he'd ever been there to begin with.

This part of Virginia was knee-deep in sadness and sorrow to a point where neither of these were distinguishable, and formed one name: Mystic Falls.

Enjoy your stay.

It was weird feeling echoes of people who weren't there anymore. Not that he was hallucinating (at least not yet), but there was a strange sense of familiarity to every single object in the mansion; the unfinished tea on the counter of the kitchen reminded him of his mother, the still on-going Just Dance 3 game of Mindy, the blaring stereo from up his room - which he did not remember turning on - of Kim. There were memories in every square inch of this house. The furniture was drenched in it, the walls reeked of it, even his own clothes carried the aroma of forgotten birthdays and anniversaries. But the people who once passed through this same living room were no longer walking the earth, and memories of insignificant events in his life were long-lost, barely a blur in his mind. They were gone, not even a blip in the short time memory span of the universe, to be eternally forgotten.

His mother's favorite coat dangled from the rack in the living room, enveloping the room in a ghostly eeriness. The sight bedazzled him; what was it doing here?

Carol Lockwood always kept her clothing at a safe distance from potential visitors, especially her favorite plush, Armani fur-coat which seemed to be permanently attached to her shoulders wherever she went. She hadn't worn that thing tonight however, strangely choosing to go in one of her Vera Wang dresses instead. He knew this because she'd always tell him _everything; t_he _do's_ and _dont'_s at a formal dinner, her basic etiquette for brunch, her outfit of the day, what she had for breakfast, etc. The woman was a chatterbox in nature, and that urge had only increased after his father's death. But this time it wasn't her business partners or sponsors she babbled off to (at least not so much) anymore - it was him. Ever since that fateful night of Founders' Day, she'd considered him the only constant in her life, and that feeling was returned. Whether she was distant and detached or joined at the hip with him or ignored his existence - she was always there. Despite complaining about the unnecessary info she'd trust him with (their conversations usually ended with _"Too much information, Mom!"_), Tyler had secretly liked that his mom opened up to him.

His TV, just a normal, large plasma screen TV, urged flashes of endless nights of tussling on the Wii with Mindy. They eventually got bored after a while, yet the party never finished until the break of dawn. Granted, he'd only known her for a few months before she was ruthlessly beheaded by Stefan, the friendly neighborhood vampire; yet, that didn't stop them from bonding in the little time they knew each other.

Whereas most of the hybrids had been ferocious and uncontrollable in the beginning, Mindy had a level-headedness even he envied. She kept her calm in most situations and didn't jump out of her skin at any threat like most of them did, rather choosing to keep a cool exterior. Despite her no-nonsense attitude, in closed confines, Mindy made an excellent drinking partner. Those were the only moments he'd ever seen her let her guard down.

He'd given Kim his old stereo as a peace offering, and she'd welcomed it with open arms. Of course the thing stayed put in his room because she knew how much he wanted to get rid of it, and he knew how much she wanted to annoy him. The only thing Kim really did with the thing was claiming ownership on it and reminding him of that fact whenever he entered his bedroom, as if they were a bunch of kids squabbling over crayons. And to blare soul music, of course; a genre he despised.

Kim had been a pain in the ass too many times to count, but there was no denying the affinity Tyler held for his second-in-command. His beta. Despite the spat they'd had over the leadership of their pack, he respected her immensely. Kim was born to be a leader after all, and maybe she would have been one day. All he knew was that the first person he would have given his alpha status would've definitely been her.

Without the people, but with their imprints left firmly behind, the house felt like a shell. A restrictive, dark, and hopeless shell. Abandoned by its owner, left to rot and be forgotten. For a long time it'd been his parents and him, then his mother and him, soon the hybrids as well and now there was only him left, though he didn't really count himself anymore. To him, what was the house was Tyler and both of them were no longer distinct. He might as well be considered furniture.

But could there be something, _anything_, that stopped him from completely fading into the interior and becoming a part of the walls? A cluster, a speck of hope to grab onto? Was there anything left?

Caroline. She was still here.

Doubt crept into him and he was slammed with his insecurities. How many times had he left her already? Twice? Thrice? And who had been there to pick up the pieces?

_No, _he thought stubbornly, his head shaking to and fro while fresh tears clouded his vision, pricking his eyes viciously. She would never do that to him, right? They loved each other without abandon, right?

He did. For him, no one could ever measure to the perfection that was Caroline Forbes. She was his sun; glowing alight, never extinguishing, warming his skin and brightening his life. He'd never loved anyone before she came, and now he hadn't done anything else since.

Right?

Right.

But Klaus loved her too. Or acted like it. Though he knew that his sweet Caroline wouldn't think twice before shooting him down, Tyler couldn't help but wonder about her reasons. He didn't doubt her intentions yet there was still a nagging in him; a thousand what-ifs and maybe's filling his withered down self-esteem and a deceptive voice whispering tales of betrayals to him. Sometimes he turned a deaf ear to it, sometimes it was his only comfort on lonely nights such as these. Fresh tears trickled down his hollow cheeks and a very salty one found shelter in the corner of his mouth. He quickly wiped it away.

He remembered feeling hopeless – when he triggered the curse, when he awaited his salvation after being turned a hybrid, when he saw Caroline laughing with Klaus. But he had never felt true hopelessness; the kind that left you breathless with a constriction in your chest, the kind that let you know that there really was nothing left - that you were nothing. It was horrible, that was all he could say to describe it, and he desperately wanted to be freed from it.

In his eighteen years of living, nothing could quite compare to the realization that he'd almost lost everything. The sinking feeling in his stomach was unbearable. As if everything had been doomed from the beginning. As if he'd never had a chance.

Laughter bubbled up from his throat, threatening to spill from the tight confines of his lips. He gently rocked back and forth, crossing his arms and closing his eyes wearily. It had all been for nothing. Everything had been a waste of time.  
Could he travel back? Grab his naive, foolish self by the shoulders, and shake some sense in him? Tell him that there was _no point? _No point in dotting the i's, going the extra mile, wasting more calories. God, that he could have ever thought otherwise...

The giggle he'd tried to suppress came flowing from his mouth in the form of a guffaw. One thing led to another and soon enough, Tyler found himself desperately clutching his sides, rolling around the carpeted floor in laughter. It was a shrill, panicky sound and was horrendous to even his own ears but he couldn't stop.  
Part of him, the logical part, was protesting profusely in mortification, and the other part, was more than encouraging. Egging him on. There was a soft murmur from deep within him, whispering a seductive _"let go"_. He couldn't place the voice; wasn't sure if it was male or female, wasn't sure if it even was a voice but he listened. He let go and that was all that mattered.

With his booming cackling he drowned out his logical alter ego, and for a moment there was only him.

He was laughing whilst lying on the floor in the living room. Why? He didn't want to remember.  
This was his house, and it was empty, except for him. Why? He didn't want to remember.  
Here once lived a grumpy mayor with his uptight wife as well. Where were they? He didn't want to remember.

A rapping sound on the door disturbed him from his euphoria. Body dramatically stilling, his laughing slowly but gradually subsided. An eerie emptiness formed in his chest, and sure enough he was struggling to breathe. Chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes moved sporadically from the floor to the door. Another knock sounded and he flinched, silently willing it to stop. Dragging his feet, he got up in the clumsiest fashion before stumbling into the foyer. His toes sunk into the plush white carpet and he stood rooted on the spot. He leaned forward and groped the door handle. Spotting a certain blonde jock behind the mosaic glass door, he reluctantly threw it open.

Matt stood there in all his bartender glory, wearing the Mystic Grill apron and the face of a concerned friend. Had he rushed down from work just to see him? Tyler allowed himself a small smile. _Typical Matt; never disappoints._

"Matt," he croaked. His eyes widened in shock when he heard his own, wheezy voice. He'd intended to greet him much more jovially, but his vulnerable state wasn't easy to hide it seemed. If he sounded like a dying lamb, what must he look like? A shiver went down his spine as he remembered all the bawling.  
Probably like shit.

Matt frowned. His face scrunched up in worry and tension, yet the gentleness that was all Matt remained in every crease of his visage. "C'mon, let's get you inside."

He put an arm around Tyler's shoulders and gingerly stepped inside the lobby, dragging his shaky frame along him with each careful step. Despite his weak murmurs of protests, Tyler let Matt lead him to the stairs without any physical struggle. He warily tread every step, expecting something to ambush him and eagerly used his best friend as support. Realizing that he hadn't been upstairs yet, he halted in his tracks. Matt spotted his sudden reluctance but gently tugged him forward, squeezing his shoulder good-naturedly.

"It's okay. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. I just assumed the balcony would be a perfect place to be right now, don't you think?"

His voice was soothing, lulling like a lullaby, and Tyler found himself agreeing with everything that came out of the footballer's mouth. There really was no point in arguing with him, he thought, especially when he had nothing to back up his argument.

So he just shrugged and let him lead.

* * *

There was a cold breeze upstairs. The doors to the balcony were wide open, providing a picturesque view of the fountain out in the garden, lit up with lanterns illuminating the rippling water. His eyes were glued on the statue of Venus, surrounded by flowing water. The marble of the artwork faintly glimmered in the dim glow from the main lantern. Tyler admired the masterpiece with barely contained awe; his head subconsciously lowering to get a closer view. He ignored the gentle tap on his shoulder and the sigh from behind him, opting to place his elbows on the railing instead and lean forward, welcoming the gentle breeze whooshing against his face.

A quiet lull fell between them, and Tyler reveled in it. Despite the whirlwind in his head, the peaceful scenery managed to calm his irregular breathing and provide a welcome distraction. Painful memories floated his mind at the sight of the fountain, but he immediately pushed them to the back of his head, enjoying the sight. There was a soft stirring behind him and a chair scraping, and he assumed Matt had made himself comfortable.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as a memory from the olden days slammed him. He recalled how two years ago he and Matt, having nicked a dozen bottles from his dad's stash, had drunk themselves into a stupor on this very balcony and on a starry night like this. His father had been alive, his mother had been alive, everyone was living and there was yet nothing abnormal in their backwater town. They'd chatted about everything and nothing, the universe, college, whether they would live to see the apocalypse, etc. Nothing special happened, it hadn't been his best night either yet now it was one of his dearest memories, one that he cradled close to his heart. Never had he questioned his future at the time. Never had he ever imagined that it would all come to _this_. It was unimaginable. That he'd lose his father, become a werewolf, then a hybrid, and subsequently lose his mother and any semblance of family he had left. That the only time he could spent with his best friend was when in mourning.

He turned to that aforementioned friend; the one that could get away, if he wanted. The Matt he'd been friends with since he could talk. The Matt he desperately wanted to be. _That_ Matt could escape everything, had a billion chances to leave this wretched place, start afresh and be _normal_.

_This _Matt, however, didn't. He_ willingly _chose to stay in this hell-hole despite all the misery, all the sadness. A blip of a human existing between all things supernatural. It was a recipe for disaster yet there he was; working at the Mystic Grill as if half the goers there weren't dead; helping to defeat enemies quadruple his size, their infamy and destruction bigger than his worst nightmares could ever imagine. This Matt had a death wish. This Matt, with his loyalty and compliance to all things Elena (which was almost painful to watch), and with a life so tragic it could be a Shakespearean play. This Matt was something from _his _nightmare: a horror come to life.

Yet, _this_ Matt was here – with him.

"Thanks," Tyler murmured, taking a seat in the armchair adjacent to him. A grating silence accompanied his statement, as he fumbled for words to say. "For being here, putting up with me, doing your Matt thing, you know ..."

Matt's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, eyes twinkling in amusement. Crossing his arms, he looked at him in mock incredulity. "My 'Matt thing'?"

Tyler chuckled half-heartedly, scratching his head as once again he struggled with what to say. It was hard to explain how only Matt could cheer him up with just his presence. How only Matt seemed to have the gift of making anyone at ease with just a smile, especially him.

The blonde beat him to it, however, as he swiftly stood up and leaned down at Tyler's eye level. He then wrapped his hands around the motionless hybrid, hugging him tightly. Baffled, Tyler hesitantly returned the embrace and draped a limp arm around the bartender's back. He closed his eyes leisurely; fresh tears escaping from under his eye lids and starting a free fall downwards. The small gesture was enough to make him come undone, and soon enough he was crying his eyes out on Matt's shoulder, drenching the boy's blue button down.

He found it embarrassing to break down in front of someone like this but once he started it was hard to stop. He cried before (had cried the whole night in fact), but there was something intimate and weak in letting his guard down before the guileless eyes of Matt, letting him witness _himself_ become a victim to his intense emotions.

Seconds, minutes, hours may have passed when Tyler finally untangled himself from Matt's hold, wiping his face streaked with tears. He entwined his hands together, looked down at the ground and exhaled deeply. _Get a grip, Lockwood! _Eyes closed, the emotional hybrid gripped the armrests of his chair in an attempt to calm his irregular breathing. He needed to be strong. He had to be.  
The sight of Matt's compassionate face when he finally opened his eyes, was enough to make him snap. _How dare he?_ Anger suddenly flared inside his belly and he breathed hard, fists trembling.

The expensive leather chair made a perfect arc as it flew through the air, landing on the fountain. Water splashed upwards at the impact of the fall, and a tell-tale cracking of marble where a leg of the chair had made contact with the statue, disturbed the serenity of the night.  
Panting, Tyler turned to a shocked Matt, staring back blankly. Silence settled in - a very uncomfortable silence - as he fumed and raged internally all the while keeping eye contact with his friend. Matt was quiet, and it was evident that his random act of violence had left him at a loss of words.

Was he judging him? Tyler couldn't help it, though, he needed this; something to lash at, pour all his frustrations into, to destroy. But he didn't _want_ to need this.

"FUCK THIS!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. The sound reverberated throughout the house, echoing back and slapping him in the face. Matt flinched but stood motionless, allowing him to rage in peace.  
Tyler clenched and unclenched his fists as he whipped up a string of curses that would've made a sailor blush, his voice ardent with anger.

He slowly stepped away from Matt, fresh tears gliding down his cheeks. How many times had he cried this night? He'd lost count after the first ten. Amazing how he was losing it in front of his friend. Just perfect. Funny how it was always him. Matt was there when he'd mourned his dad, his uncle, and now his mom and friends. A constant in all the madness. How perfectly poetic.

Tyler closed his eyes sluggishly, as if it almost pained him, and continued his backwards journey until his spine hit the railing. He threw a careless look behind him, eyes gazing at the half-demolished fountain; the perfect symmetry of the broken half of the statue and the untouched part, the running water undisturbed in its endless cycle despite the ruin surrounding it, the flowers on the flowerbed. Strange how when in emotional turmoil, people started to look at things with a new perspective.  
Or it could just be a hybrid thing. All he knew was that if his mom wasn't dead, Tyler would've never known they had a fountain in the first place.

He also wouldn't have known how true grief felt like.

He didn't want to either.

Ever so slowly, he turned around. A plethora of emotions overwhelmed him so intensely, it left him speechless when staring right into the face of his one true best friend. Relief, sadness, appreciation, spite, rolled into one mood. He was relieved that he was here, saddened at the reason why, appreciated his effort on consoling him, and spiteful that he was the one consoling and Tyler the one being consoled. It was strange how these feelings flickered in and out of existence; instead of slowly ebbing away, the departure was sudden and immediately replaced by something else. He could go from happy to sad to angry in a blink of an eye and sometimes shorter, causing him to end up in situations like these where he tearfully chucked furniture over a balcony minutes after complimenting his friend.

No matter what mood he was in, Tyler had never felt peaceful. There was always something controlling him, dragging him into something tiresome. Positive or not, he felt like he was a slave to his own emotions and that he could never get a reprieve from them. Emotions that drove him to do the most absurd things with the most drastic consequences. Tonight was only one example of the countless times he'd screwed them all – and _himself – o_ver. He'd been too hopeful, too happy, too trusting, too _naive_.

He couldn't handle the repercussions. He couldn't handle seeing his dead mom's body in the morgue, the dead bodies of his fallen friends still lying in the woods, the living body of Klaus walking around like nobody's business. Tyler hadn't faced the latter at all, and with reason, as the mere thought paralyzed him with fear. Because he couldn't handle him. Because he was weary, and could never survive the confrontation by physical prowess alone. He needed his mental dexterity – a strength that by now, was withered down by the intensity of his feelings.

Matt looked sympathetic, as if he understood; understood how he felt, understood where his thoughts were heading. _Where_ were they heading, though? What was this exploration of his own feelings telling him? Why was he thinking this? Could it be the universe? Trying to help him, and guide him? Or to just fuck with him a little more?

_Screw the universe_, he thought ardently. He didn't need help or shit from anyone. Why was everything adamant on controlling him? Destroying him? Whether it was Klaus or his own damn emotions, Tyler never was allowed to rule over himself or to be in control. He _needed_ to be in control.

No, what happened tonight will never happen again. He would make sure of it.

No one or nothing had the right to allow him anything anymore because it was his. His mind, body, agency - it was all his. _He_ would control his feelings, and destroy them, if he had to. In time, _he_ would control Klaus, and **destroy him**, if he had to. If he _wanted_ to.

And he wanted to. Desperately, wanted to.

And just like that, his head cleared. The inferno where his emotions once reigned in full-force, sizzled down considerably. The change inside him was so dearly felt that he had to grip the railing. Aftershocks rippled through his being as he struggled to compose himself. It felt uneasy at first, but as the change settled down comfortably, it became more pleasant. Exciting.

There was a slight shaking sensation on his arm and he looked at his trembling limb, puzzled by the pale hand clutching it. His eyes slowly traveled to the owner, Matt, who was regarding him with a look of exasperation. Had he been saying something? Tyler didn't listen, only stared at his friend's concerned face and the strange movements of his lips. He heard the slew of words tumbling out of his mouth but for the life of him could not place them in his brain. Their meaning was lost on him.

"Ty? Ty! What's wrong? You've been out of it for ages!" Matt's incessant shaking persisted and frankly, it was driving him mad. Rolling his eyes, his hand shot out in a millionth of a second, gripping the blonde one's in an iron-hold. The tremors plaguing his arm ceased immediately as he held onto his friend's appendage tightly, and he felt a sick fascination upon looking at Matt's paled face, as he weakly struggled to get out of his grasp. The blood had drained from his cheeks, his face was blanched and there was fear in his eyes, leaving him looking much like the prey and Tyler the hunter. _Interesting._

"Tyler, you're hurting me," Matt stated carefully, barely masking the fear in his tone. Was he? One eyebrow raised, Tyler cocked his head to the side, curiously observing the damage he'd brought to his wrist. Just as he expected; it stood out, sickly pale to the rest of his red-tinged skin. With his thumb, he delicately stroked the inside of Matt's wrist.

A loud cough. It shocked him back to reality. With difficulty, Tyler tore away his prying eyes from Matt's thudding pulse point. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dropped his friend's hand and retreated his own as if burned. He could still hear his pulse; loud, resonating, and _oh so delicious_. An all too familiar burning started in his throat.

But alongside the hunger, which was dangerously close to the surface, there was guilt. Surprisingly, it wasn't as overwhelming as he expected it would be. Nor was it actual guilt; he was more ashamed at his own reaction, his slipping control. Of course he knew that he'd hurt Matt; it was evident in the way he was rubbing his wrist and slowly but discreetly retreating back inside the house. But yet, it didn't do much but embarrass him, which was disturbing in itself.

What was happening to him? Had he, unknowingly, turned it all off?

No; at least not yet. If he'd turned off his emotions, he wouldn't be feeling embarrassed, or annoyed. And he sure as hell wouldn't be questioning it. But yet, the crippling feeling that had inhabited his chest for most of the night was suddenly gone, replaced by a strange peacefulness. It felt amazing, but weird. Alien.

Feeling light-headed, Tyler tipped his head back at the nape of his neck, enjoying the gust of wind blowing into his face and the frostiness palpable in the winter air. It tickled his outstretched neck playfully, and he indulged in the carelessness of the moment. He knew he would have to explain himself to Matt as to why he nearly broke his wrist but for the moment he enjoyed himself. There wasn't much to explain, anyways, and something told him that saying _"it was in the heat of the moment" _wouldn't go down very well but honestly, that was the only explanation he could give.

"Tyler, we should go inside," Matt started, breaking the awkward silence. The look in his baby blue eyes was screaming 'you-need-to-explain'. There was concern and poorly-hidden fear laced in his otherwise neutral voice and Tyler realized he'd really scared him. His hands were trembling ever so slightly, betraying his human frailty and his eyes stood narrowed, scrutinizing him with suspicion.

_Matt's scared of me? _The thought amused him. That he'd ever see the day. Matt, not frightened by just any vampire, but him? It was hilarious. A throaty chuckle escaped his plump lips, ringing in the air and disappearing into darkness of the night. It didn't echo back.

He smiled. "But I don't want to. You said it yourself; the balcony was exactly what I needed. It's doing a fine job." Tyler looked down, silently hoping he looked humble enough. He continued, apologetically, "and Matt, eh, about earlier ... I didn't know what came over me, and I'm sorry for hurting you, man."

There was still some suspicion, but Matt seemed to calm down; a sigh escaped his thinned lips and his high-strung body position relaxed infinitesimally. His heartbeat sped up, and relaxed, continuing in this pattern.

Tyler's thirst was almost unbearable, and he felt as if it was slowly burning away the muscle of his thorax. He swallowed to sooth the flames in his throat with his saliva, but it only served as fuel for the fire, making him gasp in unease. Matt's jugular pumping in his ears wasn't helping, and it required all of his self-control to not jump him and drain him dry.

"That's okay, man, but the offer still stands …" Matt paused when he noticed Tyler's dark look, and he narrowed his eyes. A myriad of emotions played out on his face; concern, suspicion, and a hint of fear. He stood rooted on the spot, regarding him apprehensively.

"What's wrong, Tyler?" Tyler gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, breathing hard, eyes fixed on a certain place on his neck. Courtesy to his excellent sight, he could spot the skin above his jugular elevating ever so slightly with each beat of his heart, pumping blood furiously, taunting him. His fangs throbbed, pricking the inside of his bottom lip and drawing blood; but unlike the fire in his throat, the pain was pleasant.

When was the last time he'd had blood? It'd probably been just a few days, but with Matt's hypnotizing heartbeat growing louder and louder, it seemed like decades he'd last had a taste of that particular brand of ambrosia.

His feet shuffled closer in Matt's direction, senses dragging him nearer and nearer with seductive promises of satiation. He didn't resist, and followed his instincts, approaching the blonde with renewed confidence. There was no hesitation or falter in his steps. Whatever was to happen next, would be on his conscience and his alone.

He wasn't clueless. He knew what he'd set into motion ever since he decided to gain control. He was slipping off that narrow edge, falling into something entirely unknown and shrouded in darkness with nothing to hold onto. Nothing that could stop him from falling. Nothing that could stop _him_.

But was this what he was meant to become? Is this what was intended for Tyler Lockwood?

_No, _he thought bitterly. _But this is what **I** want._

And he jumped straight in.

Matt stared with a unique innocence that was all Matt. In another time, another life, he might have found what was about to happen a gross injustice. How could he ever take away such a wonderful soul like Matt's; tainted with life's losses but infinitely kind regardless? How could he ever dare to touch a hair on the one who once had been like a brother to him? How could he ever harm his _best friend?_

Matt held up his hands in surrender, taking a few careful steps back. Tyler eagerly followed. "Listen, man, I don't know what's up with you and I'm sure it's not what I think it looks like. But if it is, just know that you are better than this, Tyler. Please, don't do this, you'll never forgive yourself ..."

At Tyler's lack of response, he continued. "I know it looks like everything's hopeless right now but it'll get better, I swear. Just don't turn it off, okay? I'm here for you, alright? I'm always here for you!"

There was a grating silence followed by that statement. The quiet felt like white noise to his ears. It was true, he believed him; he could not detect a second of hesitation in his voice nor think of any reason as to why he would be lying. Matt would always be there for him. He knew that, didn't doubt it. Tyler stared at him, blankly; brown gaze not conveying any emotion as he pondered over his answer, thoughtful.

"I understand you," Tyler replied, his tone eerily haunting. He frowned at the sound of his voice, but continued regardless. "Everything you just said; it sounds logical. Makes sense. However, don't waste your breath. This will be the last thing I'm sorry for and I _am, _for having to tell you that you're too late."

Matt's face fell.

"I kind of stopped caring a long time ago. That speech was great, though, you could have been an amazing valedictorian. Too bad it was wasted on me."

The pleading expression on his once-best friend's face, the broken whimpers, the tears lining his eyes – they were all lost on him. In a blink of eye, Tyler sped over to the blonde bartender, standing only a hairbreadth away. Only air particles separated them now.

"You're human, you're innocent, and you're my friend. I valued that, once. Now I just don't care. I see your face, and where there used to be affection and happiness in me, there's nothing. You know how that's like? To look at your loved one, to remember what you felt for them but not actually feel it? Well, guess what? It's pretty_ amazing_."

He savagely grabbed Matt's neck, cupping one side of his pale throat. Putting pressure on his fingertips, he pressed them deeper into the skin until he started gasping for air. A rush of exhilaration buzzed through him, making the hairs on his neck stand out in trepidation, and Tyler shivered at the sensation. His fingertips, the ones currently attached to Matt's throat, tingled with power. One single move, and Matt would be dead.

Sniffing his neck, he drank in the scent of fear breaking out over his skin. It was intoxicating.

Tyler snapped his head back up, staring into Matt's frightened face with morbid fascination. His doe-like eyes silently pleaded with him, and Tyler cocked his head to the side with curiosity; enchanted with the display. The fear.

How must it_ feel_ like? Being in death's grip, realizing your life was ending?

He grinned. Guess he'd never know.

Fangs as sharp as swords pierced Matt's jugular. A scream rang in Tyler's ears and he frowned, quickly smothering it with his hand; rather not having him yelling in his face. Blood bubbled up to the surface and razor-sharp teeth were replaced by crimson lips, sucking eagerly. Closing his eyes in delight, he let out a murmur of contentment. The taste didn't give him the pleasure he was used to – but it was satisfying, and that was all he looking for.

After a few gulps, he'd taken enough to satiate him. Yet, his lips remained attached to Matt's neck. Blood squirted into his mouth relentlessly, spilling over his chin and staining his dress shirt. He still refused to let go and spare him; determined to drink till the last drop. It would end with him.

Matt clawed at his sturdy arms but Tyler resisted and cradled his body closer to him, possessively. He'd pass out soon enough. Just as he predicted, Matt's struggle ceased; his arms lying limp against his sides and his breathing barely noticeable. The stubborn beat of a heart determined to survive grew weaker with each remaining sip he took. The dull bass of the organ pounded in his ears, but slowly faded to a still pulse.

The slack body dropped to the ground with dramatic flair. Remnants of Matt's blood in his mouth dripped onto the floor, seeping into the tiles. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Eyes snapped shut, the satiated hybrid reveled in the rush of the kill. Both the wolf and the vampire in him hummed with power.

He glanced at the still form of Matt Donovan at his feet, nudging it gently. When that resulted into only his head rolling sideways, he smiled in satisfaction. Good. Now he didn't have to go the extra mile and snap his neck.

Boldly stepping over the corpse, he exited the balcony; not in the least bothered by the grotesque display behind him.

For all he cared, it could stay there and be pretty.

He had work to do.

* * *

Tyler Lockwood stepped out of the house; monstrous fangs still dripping with blood, eyes bright with determination.

* * *

**AN: **Shocked? Good. What does Tyler have planned? And how will it affect the Mystic Falls' residents?Warning: this story will be gory and quite dark. Next chapter, the real action begins and we'll see what kind of ruckus emotionless Tyler brings! The MF Gang don't know what hit 'em ...

Poor Matt! The only thing he wanted was to console his best friend ... I adore Matt, but his death was necessary, and we'll see how everyone reacts when they find out what happened to him and Tyler.  
If you're wondering where Caroline was during this, your questions shall be answered. She will be in next chapter, and will play a big role. There will be Forwood in this story, and you'll see Tyler and Caroline interacting, but it's mostly Tyler-centric so.

I have already started on the next chapter but it'll be a while before it gets up considering this one took me a month to finish and it's more than 9k words! I'm intending for this to be a three-shot, but if there's a positive reaction and I have enough inspiration it might become a full-fledged story but for now, I'll keep the plot to three chapters.

Sorry if this was crap, please don't kill me! My apologies if it is OOC, I tried very hard to capture Tyler's personality in this, and how he'd feel after such an event (considering most of his reaction in the show was offscreen). The show never really showed how close he was with the hybrids, and I think they were pretty close as he was their alpha and the only few ones of his species and all. Also I added more of Tyler reflecting on everything and his feelings and less action because I think such a drastic decision needs enough emotional build-up. Talking about emotions, I always imagined Tyler feeling controlled by everything and everyone and that he has a need to break out of that control. He feels that his emotions control him in everything he does (as they have always been heightened) and that he often doesn't use his rational mind and logic. This is why he feels the massacre happened, because he was too immersed in his happiness and was too confident about the plan, never questioning Hayley's loyalties. He is also sick of Klaus having the upperhand all the time, controlling him even when the sirebond is broken. Tyler turned it off partially because he was overwhelmed by grief and guilt. It was also because of his need to decide for himself, and finally break the hold his emotions had over him and his actions.

This will be MY take at nonhumanity, and might differ from the show's version. Emotions are very complex, and I've always been confused on whether the show meant turning off one's ability to feel simple emotions like happiness and sadness or rather the full ability to feel/react. I'm going with the former. So if you find anything inconsistent with the show, it's probably intentional.

Please follow, favorite, and review!


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